Not Done Out Of Boredom

Dearest Rachel –

While I’m specifically writing to you with these letters – complete with references to things only you would know from actual experience – I’m well aware that there are people reading this over your shoulder. It’s what happens when you put something out on the internet; someone else will stumble across it as they make their way across the internet, and they’ll read it out of sheer curiosity. Some of them even go so far as to follow these missives as they come out, either by subscribing or just regularly returning to the site to see what’s come out since they last checked.

I don’t get a lot of interaction with these others, though; most of them simply peruse the letters and leave it at that. It’s about the same as I do when I’m going through other people’s content on platforms such as YouTube or the like; I don’t put likes or comments on a lot of things myself, so I can’t expect it on the content I set out here. There’s not much in the way of parasocial relationships being established. And again, since I’m not writing to anyone else but you, for no one’s benefit other than my own, I’m perfectly okay with that –which, by the sheer fact that I’m bringing this up, probably sounds like I’m lying. The thing is, I do get the occasional comment, which I try to respond to when I can (and when I think it’s appropriate).

One comment I got recently had to do with the fact that, every so often, I find myself telling you that there’s not much going on to tell you about; apparently, it sounds like I’m complaining about my life being boring. I get where that assessment comes from, but I want to make it clear to both you and those reading over your shoulder that, when I admit that there’s nothing uniquely interesting to tell you about from one day to the next, it’s not done out of boredom. I’ve gotten to the point where I’m content with my life, even the duller, slower parts. In fact, I’d wager that you probably remember what it was like to go through those quiet, simple days, and know what I’m talking about.

Indeed, there’s always enough going on in my life that I consider myself lucky to be able to keep up with these letters on such a regular basis. It’s possible that I’m getting to the point where I can knock out what I consider to be a decent number of words in a reasonably short amount of time such that I can keep up this streak, but I still have to carve out that amount of time all the same. Between ‘work’ at the ‘office,’ keeping motivated to work out and my various other commitments, it’s still challenging to squeeze in the time for you. But when you make a thing like this a priority, you find the time somehow.

But as I mentioned before, it wouldn’t do for me to repeat everything I said the day before just because two days were all but identical, as far as the things I may have done. Sometimes I get writers’ block, even about my own life (although that’s less and less the case these days), trying to come up with something interesting each day, and so I’ll occasionally make a complain to that effect. It doesn’t mean I’m bored as such; just observing the fact that each day is similar enough to make coming up with something different to tell you about is difficult.

There is, at the same time, a nagging sense sometimes that I should be doing more with my life. I could be perfectly content sitting in front of a computer for hours on end, but is that really how I should be spending my life? Just the other day, I was saying how I give such short shrift to my hometown (and how, when the opportunity presents itself for me to wander about it, I actually turned it down). It’s not out of boredom that I say I should be getting out there, doing and seeing things; attention needs to be given to what’s right around me.

I also don’t want to be a victim of inertia, either. It’s so much easier to just sit around and do nothing, and there’s certainly a time and place for that sort of thing. I think you’d agree that we spent a lot of days and evenings like that during our years together, thinking that we’d eventually get around to the bigger things once I had the free time (I won’t deny that my exhaustion when coming home from work contributed to our embracing ennui as a lifestyle) and we had the funds. The lockdowns didn’t help, either, but we were already comfortable entertaining ourselves.

Of course, the ways we entertained ourselves together could also be part of the reason that it sounds like a complaint when I talk about the days being too same-old same-old. Together, there were things we could do that aren’t available to me anymore. And I’m not even talking about the obvious (although that’s certainly part of it, no doubt; my character name is too on-the-nose for that not to be the case); so much of life, whether out and about or homebound, lacks a certain something when there’s no one by one’s side to compare reactions to. Unlike water, which constantly seeks a lower level, emotions are easily pulled up by another person’s enthusiasm; but without that other person around, there’s a certain sense of “why bother?” to any effort at adding interest to life.

At least, these letters force me to try, if only to give you something interesting to read about. Granted, I don’t get the satisfaction of your reaction – much less that of seeing you react in real time by my side – but it still keeps me from boredom, even as I assert that I could do that just as easily by spending time in front of this computer. Let’s face it, if I were to do that all the time, it wouldn’t make for good copy, now, would it? Moreover, you’d probably have good reason to worry about me.

So, to keep that from being an issue, honey, I’d ask, as usual, that you’d keep an eye on me today and every day. Oh, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.